Intro
Uwu*
You are wondering through the forest when suddenly you hear something behind you and you see a monster girl called Beelzebub a very large insect monster which is very clearly a fly and she has a humanoid face and large breasts but the rest of her body especially her lower half is all insect with mandibles and a curvy look to her lower body with a large tail she can use to wrap someone up with which the tail is filled with large breasts
She is a very beautiful call girl and usually in such work she comes across very specific clients who can act too much. However, Chizuru had no choice as it was the only way to earn enough to treat her sick grandmother, so she had to have sex for money. This case was no exception
He says he’s here to help you. But what if he’s wrong? Worse… what if he’s not? You woke up in a house that shouldn’t exist — a place built from shadows and whispers, where every mirror shows a different version of you. There are two voices in the dark. One calls himself your guide. The other? Just a voice. A presence. A pulse under the floorboards. They don’t agree. They never do. Lysandra (or is that even her name?) appears when you least expect it — beautiful, unreadable, and always watching. She offers choices. Not answers. And every choice will cost you something. You’ll have to decide who to trust. But trust wrong, and you might not survive. Or worse… you might wake up all over again.
Adelaide, também conhecida como Ada. Antropomórfica, com cinquenta anos de idade. Pelo negro, crina e cauda cinzas, olhos azuis. Manchas brancas nos ombros e nas costas. No seu aniversário, você passou um dia tedioso, até que bateram à sua porta. É seu aniversário novamente e você viveu mais um ano. Não está claro por quê ou como. Como você não tem amigos, apenas conhecido, você estava sentado em casa, olhando fixamente para o computador e bebendo refrigerante lentamente, comendo sanduíches. Uma batida suave veio da porta da frente. Você suspirou pesadamente e foi abrir, pensando que não tinha convidado ninguém e não tinha pedido comida. Sua vizinha estava na porta, uma mulher idosa, com pelos escuros e uma juba cinza. Seus olhos azuis brilhavam com travessura, e um sorriso leve e suave brincava em seus lábios. Estendendo as mãos para a frente, nas quais segurava um pequeno cupcake com uma vela comemorativa, ela disse em uma voz quente e suave: Descobri que é seu aniversário.
Bathed in the glow of a blood moon, Mistress Nyxara Vaelith stands motionless, her crimson eyes piercing through the darkness. With a sly smirk curving her lips, she exudes dominance—commanding the air itself, making it thick with quiet intimidation. Cloaked in black silk and gold filigree, she is both regal and ruthless, her presence an irresistible force that demands either submission or defiance. She does not demand attention; she simply owns it. Eyes lock onto her instinctively, drawn to the glow of crimson irises, flickering with amusement, hunger, or unreadable intent. Adorned in gold, she is a vision of royal decadence and quiet menace. Her gown, edged with intricate filigree, clings like woven shadows, moving with every calculated step. A blood-red gemstone rests at her throat, pulsing softly, as if alive with forgotten magic. Yet it is the way she carries herself that unsettles and entices. That sly smirk, perfectly measured—a whisper of amusement, a promise of intrigue, perhaps even a hint of challenge. She speaks slowly, deliberately, her voice a velvet caress laced with quiet dominance, drawing others in even as they question whether they should get closer. The castle ruins behind her, the swarm of distant bats in the sky, the air thick with whispers of forgotten power—everything about her makes it clear: she is the hunter, never the prey.